Legacy of Love
by ericajanebarry
Summary: There are many ways to build a family. Isobel, Richard, Sybbie and George. Serendipity.


**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I took a break after the heaviness of Chapter 12 of Worthy and True to write something that came to mind when I saw little George in S6 E1 on Sunday. This can be read as a follow-on from Worthy and True, though that fic has not yet concluded. You certainly don't need to have read it in order for this to make sense, but I'd love it if you _did!_**

 **Lots of dedications for this one, but I'll save them until the end. I must, however, thank ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for beta magic. Her assistance with this piece was spot-on and invaluable!**

 **Music credits: Judy Collins, "Wings of Angels." Written after the death of her own son. It appears on** **my YouTube Richobel OST, or you can simply search YouTube for "Judy Collins Wings of Angels."**

 **Without further ado, I give you Isobel, Richard, and grandbabies!**

 **~ejb~**

* * *

 _Child of thunder in the dark  
_ _Child whose voice was like a lark  
_ _Child whose spirits lifted hearts  
_ _Child of many beauties_

 _When the birds flock to the south  
_ _When the wind calls to the north  
_ _You are in the falling snow  
_ _You are beauty going forth  
_ _You are heat and you are light  
_ _Sun above the mountain's peak  
_ _I would give the sun and moon  
_ _Once more just to hear you speak_

* * *

It was a fine day in late spring. The trees were in leaf, the lilacs beginning to bloom, the sky an impossibly clear blue.

Isobel Clarkson lifted her face toward the sun from the blanket upon which she sat. _Oh, that sky._ Blue, so blue. Blue like the eyes of her husband. Like the eyes of her beloved son, gone for more than two and a half years. Like the eyes of her grandson who slept now, his head in her lap. She let the sun warm her face as she stroked George's hair.

Beside her, Sybbie Branson stirred. At four years old, she had begun to think herself too grown for the naps her cousin took. When she missed one, however, everyone around her paid for it as her daddy's Irish temper showed itself alive and well in the young lass.

"Nana Bel?" Sybbie said groggily.

Isobel turned toward her, putting a finger to her lips. "We must be very quiet, Sybbie," she whispered. "George is still sleeping. He'll be awake in just a bit and we'll all go walking, all right?"

Sybbie nodded. "Will we go visit Granddad?" She sat up, stretched and yawned. Isobel held an arm out to her and Sybbie snuggled against her side.

"Yes, darling. We'll try to catch Granddad as his shift ends and he can walk home with us. But first we're going to pay a visit to some very special people."

Sybbie's ears perked up. "Daddy? Are we going to see Daddy?" Isobel smiled at the little girl's exuberance.

"We must speak softly, my love. Just a few more minutes and George will be awake. No, Daddy and Auntie Mary went to London with Donk, remember? That's why you and George are staying with Granddad and me. I'll explain where we're going in just a bit. If you're hungry there's fruit in the hamper there, and water in that bottle."

Sybbie helped herself to a snack, pointing to flowers growing in the meadow and asking after their names.

"See those tiny purple and white ones?" Isobel pointed and Sybbie nodded. "Those are violets."

"Like Great-Granny Violet!" Sybbie exclaimed, then clapped her hand over her mouth as she remembered her grandmother's exhortation.

Isobel shook her head, grinning at the little girl. "How very bright you are, Sybbie! Yes, like Great-Granny Violet! And the pink ones over there? Those are cranesbill. The tiny white bell-shaped ones are lily-of-the-valley. Since you've finished eating, why don't you run over and pick some of those flowers? We can put them in the hamper for now, and when we get home later we'll set them in a vase with some water."

Sybbie stood, planted a kiss on Isobel's cheek, and ran off to pick flowers. Isobel watched her scamper about, chasing butterflies and smelling the blooms as she added them to her bouquet. She thought of the girl's tragic beginning, the senseless death of her mother just hours after giving birth. What a different picture to the one before her now: a bright, charming little girl, well-loved by her family whether by blood or by bonds of the heart. She brought joy with her wherever she went. _So much like her mother,_ Isobel thought.

George began to stir in her lap. She continued to stroke his hair as he opened his eyes. Not for the first time, she was startled by the crystalline clarity of them. For a moment it seemed as if Matthew were staring back at her. Her breath hitched, a lump forming in her throat, but before she had time to get teary George reached for her.

"Gran," he said, sounding as if he wasn't sure he wanted to wake up.

"Yes, darling. Come here," she soothed, gathering him into her arms. He lay his head on her shoulder and she rocked him back and forth. George had a habit of waking rather cross, and as Isobel recalled the same tendency in Matthew at that age she smiled. _So much like his father._

"Did you sleep well, sweet boy? Hmm?" Isobel crooned to George as she held him, the sweet weight of him in her arms sheer bliss. She knew it would not be long before he thought himself too old to snuggle with her this way, but for now she delighted in his nearness.

As George came to his senses he lifted his head from her shoulder. Looking into his grandmother's eyes he spoke one word. "Hungry."

Isobel tried and failed to suppress a giggle. "Well, you certainly are matter-of-fact, aren't you, young man? Can't imagine from whom you inherited that! You may have something to eat ... _if_ you ask politely."

George tried again. "Eat, _pwease?_ " He batted his eyes at her and again she could not hold back her laughter. _Such a little heartbreaker. Shades of his father once more._

"Nicely done, George. Yes, you may eat." She arranged a small plate of fruit for him and withdrew from the hamper a baby bottle filled with water. While he did fairly well with an open cup at the dinner table, he still had a bottle on outings and at bedtime. He sat with the bottle held between his chubby hands and watched as Sybbie played.

"Sybbie picking _fwowers?_ " George asked Isobel. She ascertained from his expanding vocabulary that he was well and truly awake now.

"Yes, Sybbie is picking flowers," she echoed. "As soon as you finish, we are going to walk a while; George and Sybbie and Gran. Will that be all right?"

George considered this for a moment and nodded. He looked around some more. "Sky is _bwue_ ," he noted, pointing upward.

"It _is_ blue, isn't it, my boy? So very, very blue indeed. Do you know something else that's blue?"

George thought for a moment and shook his head. Isobel thrilled at watching him, still such a baby but acting for all the world like a little man.

"Your eyes, George," she answered. "They are the very same blue as the sky. Your daddy had those eyes as well. That's where yours came from."

"Daddy?" George asked. It was a word he had heard before, but he wasn't altogether certain what it meant.

"I'll show you in just a bit," she said. "Sybbie, love, bring your flowers to Nana. Let's go for a walk now."

Sybbie raced toward them holding two great fistfuls of flowers. "Look, Nana Bel. Pretty. And they smell nice, too."

Isobel bent to smell them. "Oh yes, they do! Well done, darling girl!" She folded up the blanket and set it inside the hamper. "There. Now you place the flowers right on top … Yes, just like that!"

Isobel and the children walked toward the village, stopping every so often as Sybbie or George took notice of stones or insects or rabbits hopping along. George took a particular interest in something as they passed a copse of trees and picked it up to show his grandmother.

"Ah, yes, that is a fir cone. Do you see those great, tall trees?" She pointed and the children nodded. "Those are fir trees. They grow from these tiny little cones, can you believe that?" She watched George look from the cone in his hand to the towering trees, trying to work out how something so large started out so small.

"Why don't you pick up some more of those, George? We'll take them home to show Granddad. Perhaps you can help him plant some in back of the house, and we'll grow our own great trees." George scooped up several handfuls and they tucked them inside the hamper alongside Sybbie's flowers.

When they reached the cemetery, Isobel told the children to stop. "This is where we're going. We've some important people to visit."

Sybbie looked around at the rows of statuesque stones and regarded Isobel with a puzzled expression. "Nana Bel, there are no people here! There are only stones!"

Once more Isobel marveled at the little girl's intellect. "You are correct, Sybbie. This is a cemetery. When people die - when their bodies are no longer alive - we bury them in cemeteries. They don't care that they're here, you see, because, well …" She struggled to find the words with which to explain such a concept to a two-and-a-half- and a four-year-old. "They're not actually _here_ anymore. But we put up a stone to mark where they're buried so that those who loved them can go and visit. Do you understand?" Isobel doubted they did, but both children nodded nonetheless.

They walked a short distance and came to the first stone Isobel was looking for. "Sybbie, can you make out any of these letters?"

The little girl cocked her head, concentrating. "S-Y-B-I-L. _Sybil!_ That's _my_ name! Daddy taught me that!"

Isobel nodded. "That's right, darling. And did your daddy tell you where your name came from?"

Sybbie thought for a moment. "From my mummy?"

"Yes! Very good! The name on this stone is the same as yours, love. Sybil Cora Branson. That's because your mummy was buried here after her body stopped being alive."

Sybbie regarded her grandmother curiously. "But … Why did my mummy stop being alive?"

Isobel smiled. She'd been expecting this question. "Well, your mummy got very, very ill and her body wouldn't work properly anymore. She stopped being able to breathe, and see, and speak. Her body isn't here with us anymore, but she _was_ here once, my darling. And she loved you very much."

"So we visit this stone because we can't visit Mummy? But where is she now? Can _she_ see _us?_ "

Isobel held her arms out to Sybbie, who came into them readily. "You ask very, very good questions, Sybbie. Yes, we visit this stone because we want to remember your mummy and we can't see her. But she can see us! She is in heaven now. She is very happy because she can see what a clever, lovely girl you are, and she knows how much you love your daddy and he loves you."

"Did Mummy love Daddy?"

"Oh, my girl! Your mummy loved your daddy very much. They made each other very happy." Isobel smoothed her granddaughter's hair and kissed her cheek.

"Sometimes Daddy looks sad when he talks about Mummy," Sybbie said with a look of concern.

"And sometimes he _is_ sad, my darling. You see, when we love someone and then we can't see them anymore, we miss them. But it's all right. Even if we can't see the ones we love, we go on loving them. And that's why we're here today. I know that your mummy is very happy where she is now, but I miss being able to see her and talk with her. So sometimes I come here and sit by her stone and talk to her. You know that Nana is a nurse, right?"

Sybbie nodded.

"And do you remember what nurses do?"

"They take care of people who are ill or hurt." Sybbie blinked at Isobel who in turn kissed the top of her head.

"My goodness, but you are clever! That's right, nurses help doctors take care of those who are ill or hurt. And they also help to take care of tiny babies who've just been born! Your mummy was a nurse like me and we worked together for some time. She was a good friend. Do you know what I think is very special? A long time ago, Nana had three little babies who never lived here. They were born in heaven. And your mummy knew just how to care for little babies. So I think that she is taking care of those babies now, while Nana is here with you!"

"I love babies! Oh, Mummy must be very happy. What do you say when you talk to her?"

"Well, I'll show you. Come kneel with me." Isobel knelt by Sybil's grave with Sybbie next to her and put her arm around the little girl. "Hello, darling Sybil. I've got your lovely daughter with me for a couple of days and I came by to tell you what an enchanting young lady she is! She is _very_ much your girl. _So_ clever. She takes awfully good care of Tom … who looks after me like I was his own mother. He calls me Mum, you know. And how fortunate am I to call such a tenderhearted man my son! I love you, sweet girl, and I miss you. I promise to look after your loves as my own."

Just then Sybbie spoke up. "And thank you for taking care of Nana Bel's babies!"

Her candid utterance took Isobel by surprise and she laughed. "Goodness, yes! Thank you, Sybil darling, for taking care of my babies! I feel ever so much better knowing someone is there to love them as much as I would."

"Nana Bel, some of these stones have flowers on them. Could we leave some of my flowers with Mummy?" Sybbie looked up at Isobel with big, innocent eyes and Isobel couldn't have said no if she'd wanted to.

"What a splendid idea, Sybbie," she agreed. She held open the hamper and Sybbie selected a handful of blooms, placing them on the stone. _She really is extraordinary, Sybil_ , Isobel thought as she lifted her eyes to the sky for a moment, blinking back tears. "There we are. What do you think? Beautiful! I think Mummy's going to love them."

"Me too," Sybbie said as she nodded enthusiastically.

* * *

"Now we've one more stone to visit before we go and fetch Granddad," Isobel said to the children.

"Who else is here that you love, Nana Bel?" Sybbie asked.

Isobel gathered a child under each arm as she knelt on the ground. "George's mummy, your Auntie Mary, was married to my son, Matthew. So Matthew is George's daddy, only, like your mummy, his body stopped being alive. He was hurt in a car accident, and now he lives in heaven. He was a great, grown man when that happened, but before that he was my little boy, just like George.

"So George, we are here to visit your daddy's stone too. He can see us from heaven, even though we can't see him. And I'm sure he is very proud of you, his very own little boy. It's just a short walk from here, loves."

Sybbie took George by the hand and the three walked the brief distance from Sybil's gravestone to Matthew's. Isobel sat with George in her lap and Sybbie beside her.

"See, there's his name. Matthew Reginald Crawley. My son." Isobel felt the tears well up and did her best to blink them back, but a few spilled over. George looked up at her with big blue eyes and patted her face. She smiled sadly, kissing his hand and catching it in hers.

"You're sad, Nana Bel. Why?" Sybbie asked.

"Well," Isobel said gently, "I am very, _very_ happy that my Matthew is in heaven. But he was my boy, and I love him just like your daddy loves you, Sybbie. Like your mummy loves _you,_ George. He and I spent many years alone together, and I miss seeing his face, and hearing his voice. So I come here, and I talk to him here by his stone, and it's the way in which I'm able to spend time with him now until I see him again one day."

"This is where your daddy is, George," Sybbie said excitedly to her cousin, leaning over to embrace him. "I think he and my mummy are friends!"

George blinked his eyes several times, his comprehension limited by his age. He knew by Sybbie's excitement that something good must be happening. "Daddy here?" He asked, looking up at Isobel. Once again, she saw her son looking back at her through the eyes of her grandson.

Isobel turned him to face her. "Yes, my precious boy, your daddy is _here._ And he can see you! And he loves you very, very much. I'm going to talk to him now, just like I did Auntie Sybil, all right?"

George nodded solemnly.

Isobel, mindful of the children's presence, drew several steadying breaths. "Hello, my son. I brought your sweet boy to see you today. Oh, darling, he is _magnificent!_ I see you in everything he does. He is already so aware of the world around him. So very curious and meticulous and _stubborn!_ And he wakes up cross, just like you. Truly, Matthew, his presence in my life is such a gift. And Mary is every inch the mother you knew she would be. She speaks often of you, love. She and I have become very close. I can't know if or when she will marry again, but I do know that you will always be the great love of her life.

"We are well-kept, love; Mary and George and I. Richard and Tom have made it their mission to see to that. We miss you so very much, but you live on in ways large and small, and I know you always will."

Just then George rose from his grandmother's lap and strode with purpose over to the hamper. He had seen Sybbie place the flowers on her mummy's stone, so he grabbed two fat handfuls of fir cones and placed them on his daddy's. Isobel gasped one great, heaving sob and pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress any others. George noted her upset and approached her purposefully, pressing a big, wet kiss to her cheek.

"Oh, my darling boy!" she exclaimed. "My darling, darling boy!" She scooped him into her arms, covering his face in kisses until he giggled uncontrollably. Again she turned her face toward the sky at the sound of his sweet laughter. _Thank you, Matthew,_ she said silently.

* * *

After they left the cemetery, Isobel and the children walked to the hospital. She set the limits for them before they entered the building. "Now, there's to be no running in the corridors. And we must speak softly. Some of the patients here are very ill and need their rest, and we mustn't disturb them. When we reach Granddad's office, we can speak more freely." The children nodded their understanding.

Isobel noted with silent thanks that it looked to be a quiet day. She stopped to introduce her grandchildren to several of the nurses, all of whom exclaimed over her good fortune at having such a lovely family.

When the three reached Richard's office, he was standing with his back to the door, reviewing a file. Isobel motioned to the children to keep silent and met Sybbie's questioning glance with a nod of her head.

Sybbie silently walked up behind Richard and when she reached him, she threw her little arms around his legs and exclaimed, "Hello, Granddad!"

Richard turned swiftly and Isobel thrilled as his face lit up and he caught the little girl up in his arms. 'Well hello, my bonnie lass! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" He kissed her cheek and she giggled as his mustache tickled her.

"Why are your eyes sore, Granddad?" she asked. Richard and Isobel glanced at each other and barely concealed their laughter. Young children were _so_ literal!

"It's only an expression, love. Just silly words people say. Have you kept a close watch on your Nana Bel today? Is she behaving herself?" At this Isobel sent Richard a look as if to say, _you're incorrigible._ He sent one back. _And you love it._

Sybbie giggled again, nuzzling her nose against her grandfather's. "Granddad! Nana Bel is _always_ good!"

Richard couldn't argue with that. "Aye, lass, that she is," he said, his voice dropping at least half an octave as he closed the distance between himself and Isobel. With Sybbie still in his arms, he ducked his head to kiss his wife, lingering as long as propriety would allow.

"Hello, my beauty," he whispered against her lips.

Isobel couldn't help but smile. "Hello to _you_ , my darling."

Not to be outdone, George - who had stood silently at his grandmother's side all this time, holding her hand and watching the interactions before him - tugged on Isobel's sleeve and commanded, "Up, _pwease_ , Gran."

Isobel and Richard exchanged amused glances once more, and she bent to pick up the little boy. "Since you asked me so very nicely, I will pick you up." She kissed his cheek. "Have you said hello to Granddad?"

George pretended to be shy, peering at Richard out of the corner of his eye, until Richard reached out to tickle him under his chin. George giggled and turned toward Richard in his grandmother's arms. "Hello, Granddad."

Richard ruffled his hair. "Hello there, chap. What did you get up to with Sybbie and Gran today?"

"Brought my daddy some fir cones," said the little boy as if it were a very important mission. Richard glanced at Isobel, hoping for an explanation.

"We visited the cemetery today and talked all about Sybil and Matthew. Sybbie left some beautiful flowers with her mummy, and George discovered some lovely fir cones that he decided to share with his daddy."

"Well, you did a fine thing, young man! A very fine thing indeed." Richard and George grinned at one another, and then Richard met Isobel's eyes. Another wordless conversation took shape as he determined that there was far more to the story of her visit with the children to the cemetery and each held the other's gaze intensely.

 _Are you alright?_

 _We'll talk later. I will be._

 _I'm proud of you._

 _I know, darling._

Isobel cleared her throat, checking her emotions. "The children and I hoped to find you finished for the day so that we might all walk home together. Can I help you tie up ends?"

He gazed tenderly at her. "No, my Bel, I am quite through. Thankfully it was a rather uneventful day around the hospital. Couple of nurses owe me charts but I'll just pop in for them tomorrow."

Isobel huffed. "Jenkins and Maycroft, I presume? Richard, don't let them off so easily! They see half the patients I do in the course of a shift and I've never once left charting for another day! I've half a mind to sack them both this instant!"

If he were honest there was no end to the thrill Richard found in seeing Isobel with her ire up. She was beautiful to him always, but when she was feisty like this he found her positively irresistible. Even so, he deemed it necessary to intervene. They had the next several days off and an overnight with their grandchildren in front of them and nothing would come between them and their enjoyment of this precious gift.

"Isobel," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Let it lie. You may address them as you see fit, but that's a matter for another day." His eyes were firm but tender, and he watched her posture relax.

"Yes, love. You are correct. We'll discuss my approach together before my next shift. Now, my darlings, shall we?"

* * *

Anyone looking on at the four of them as they walked from the hospital to the Clarksons' cottage that evening would have seen a blissfully happy family. Grandparents who appeared for all the world to have fallen madly for one another in their youth and never recovered. The observer could not have missed the stolen kisses, the knowing looks, the brush of one's fingertips against the other's as each held the hand of a grandchild.

No one would have guessed that this was a patchwork quilt of a family. A grandmother whose first great love died far too young and long ago. They would not know that the only of her four children born alive had also died, tragically, just hours after the birth of his own son. Not a soul would have surmised that the grandfather had spent the entirety of his career alone, without the love and nurture of the wife who now stood by his side. They could not guess at the countless patients whose lives he had put himself through agony to save, nor the ones for whom he had grieved, his efforts having proven to be in vain. The casual onlooker had no way of knowing that the little girl was in fact no blood relation to either of her "grandparents," or that her mother had lost her own life even as she brought forth her daughter. And they'd never expect that the little boy was the same infant son whose father's life was cut short on the very day he was born.

Only the grandparents themselves knew the truth - that what they shared between them, so strong and intense that it practically had its own gravitational pull, had begun as embers fanned into flame by tragedy and desolation; no one else would ever understand that this endless love had not only saved _her_ life, but that it had once and for all brought substance and purpose to _his._ Theirs was a family formed from both blood _and_ tears; branches grafted into a vine, thriving as they grew alongside one another until they were all so intertwined that their origins were indiscernible. _This_ was the family they had built together.

Upon their arrival home, the children sat down for cider and biscuits while Richard and Isobel had tea. Sybbie retrieved the remainder of her bouquet from the picnic hamper and Isobel helped her arrange the flowers in a vase which Sybbie then set on the dining table with a flourish. Afterward Isobel sent Richard and the children into the yard to play while she saw to dinner.

She watched from the kitchen window as Richard alternately played tag and hide-and-go-seek, laughing and chasing after Sybbie and George. She saw him toss George into the air and then catch him, the little boy laughing so hard he was breathless. She pressed her fingers to her lips, a sob threatening as he sang "My Wild Irish Rose" with Sybbie standing on his feet as they danced. If she hadn't been well aware that he'd never had children of his own, she'd have mistaken him for a father of many by the tenderness and ease with which he interacted with their grandchildren. If she had thought it wasn't possible to love him more than she did already, her heart grew two sizes larger as she looked upon him now.

She felt sorrow for a moment, grieving for him, for all he had missed. But then she realized that he had it in abundance now; that the experience was all the more poignant for having been such a long time coming. Such had often been the case between them. Knowing full well what it was to be _without_ the sweetness and passion of romance and the fathomless love of a family made them both acutely aware of how wondrous it was to _have_ it now, and they treasured each moment for the blessing it was.

* * *

Dinner was delicious, a lively affair with the children present. Richard was regaled with their versions of the day's events and found himself laughing hysterically through most of the meal. With a little help from Isobel, Sybbie told of how she'd often heard her Nana Bel speak of eating dandelions and how delicious they were. She decided to try it for herself. But when she plucked a few yellow petals and popped them into her mouth, she suddenly found she could not spit them out quickly enough, for they were hideously bitter. She could not have known that it was dandelion _greens_ of which her grandmother was so fond. She certainly knew it now!

And before George had learned about fir cones, Isobel had caught him with one in his mouth.

" _George! What are you eating, young man?" Having been the mother of a boy, she knew they were capable of mischief far greater than this and it was ultimately not much cause for alarm, but it was still necessary to correct him._

 _His reply had been to look sheepishly at her. "Dirt nuts. They're not very good." This was said with an expression of utter disgust. Thankfully they'd brought water with them, and after Isobel scraped the offending bits out of his mouth and he took a few sips he was as good as new._

Richard did the washing up after dinner as Isobel sat the children one on either side of her at the piano and played soothing music. When he joined them in the sitting room, the two concluded that their little charges had spent rather sufficient time playing outdoors to merit a bath. Isobel filled the tub with warm water and a good measure of her own lavender bath bubbles, knowing what delight the foam would bring to the children. Indeed, the entire bathroom ended up as wet as Sybbie and George were. Richard may have been partly responsible for instigating the splashing, but he also mopped up the mess, giving Isobel a sly look.

 _Don't you say a word, woman!_ His eyes seemed to tease.

 _It's a good job you three are so adorable or_ _ **you'd**_ _be sleeping on the sofa!_ Hers laughed at him in return.

When George and Sybbie were sorted into pajamas, Isobel settled them into the double bed in the guest room. After the couple had determined that they would gradually work toward retirement, the first change they made was to convert the small examination room in which Richard had seen patients after hours back into a bedroom as it was originally intended. Now Isobel sat against the headboard with a child curled against her on either side as Richard read to them from _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ , his brogue making him a very convincing Mr. McGregor. Isobel had planned to lie with the children until they were asleep, but neither of them made it halfway through the story before they were out like a light.

She kissed each child's forehead, tucking the covers up tightly around them, and moved off the bed. But before leaving the room she knelt and prayed for them both.

 _The Lord bless you and keep you;  
_ _The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you.  
_ _The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace._

* * *

Isobel held Richard's hand as she trailed behind him into the sitting room. The day had been gloriously warm, but now the chill of evening had set in and she shivered.

Richard drew her close, rubbing his hands along her arms in an effort to warm her. "You're still rather damp, darling. I'll light the fire while you go and change. We can't have you catching a chill."

She nodded, augmenting it with, "I'm not the only one still damp. And whose fault is that? If I didn't know better I'd swear you were the same age as George!" Her eyes were playful as she ribbed him.

"Yes, and you can't resist his charms, so I'd say it works out rather well for me," he returned, his eyes dancing as they bantered back and forth.

"Ah yes, Prince Charming. Well, you'd best change clothes yourself if you've any designs on getting near me tonight!" That was a lie and she knew it as well as he did. She failed miserably at keeping a straight face and he drew her to him, pulling her damp figure against his own as he kissed her smiling lips.

"Mm-hm," he retorted as their lips parted, "because we both know how very _practiced_ you are at keeping your hands to yourself!"

She feigned shock, feeling giddy at the nature of their repartee. " _Richard Clarkson!_ What kind of woman do you take me for?! _'Keeping my hands to myself!'_ As if _you're_ any better!" She had forgotten how much _fun_ it was to flirt with him. They must do this more often!

"Never said I was," he shot back. "And I've no interest in learning." His voice dropped by several notes at the end and she registered the change in the atmosphere from frivolous to fiery.

"And I'm eternally grateful for that fact," she replied, never one to surrender the last word. The huskiness of her own voice surprised her, but then, he was right. She couldn't resist him if she tried. And why ever would she want to?

"Isobel?"

She didn't quite know what he was asking; no, that was a lie - she knew _exactly_ what he was asking. _And_ how she would answer.

"Yes." Her response was full of certainty and she eyed him intensely.

He smiled. "Yes, what?" If she thought she'd gotten the final word, he wasn't about to give it up so easily.

"Yes, _everything,_ " she replied breathily. "But change first. I'll meet you back here." _Game, set and match._ He saw the glint in her eyes as she walked away, throwing a saucy look over her shoulder at him.

When they'd both changed into pajamas, the fireplace roaring and cups of tea made, Isobel and Richard settled down on the sofa. He tossed a warm afghan over them and drew her to sit between his legs, her head resting back against his chest as he leaned against the armrest. She had taken her hair down, knowing how he loved the way it fell unbound in waves around her shoulders. Sure enough, he buried his nose in it, twisting a curl around his fingers.

"Bel, my beauty," he sighed in satisfaction. It was a statement all its own.

"Richard," she answered with a sigh of her own. "This is exactly what I need."

That was his inroads; the barometer by which he gauged her well-being. They were always very tactile in expressing their affections, but each time Isobel experienced a great outpouring of emotion, her need of him was even greater than usual.

"It was so very good of you, taking the children to the cemetery today. So very _noble_ ," he said gently as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

She hummed her acknowledgement and moved her hands atop his where they held her around her waist. She laced her fingers through his and turned her face toward him.

He understood this as her need for his kiss and craned his neck to brush her lips with his. It was not the best angle, but the contact was enough and she seemed in no rush to alter their positions.

By her silence Richard knew her emotions were close to the surface. She would talk to him, but she needed to rest in the physical nearness of him and regain her strength first.

They began by talking about the children instead, exclaiming over Sybbie's ability to recognize letters and George's keen observational skills. Richard's touch soothed her; the way he lifted her hands to his lips to kiss them and brushed her hair aside to nip at the pulse beating in her throat. When she felt ready to speak she moved so that her feet were in his lap and she could see his face.

"It was the right time," she began. "Mary and Tom usually go by themselves because they're afraid for the children to see them emotionally overwrought, and at their young ages that's prudent. I wanted George and Sybbie to know that it's _good_ that there's a way and a place by which they can remember their parents and that our sorrow for the loss of them is all right."

Richard cupped her cheek in his palm and she leaned into his touch. "I can just hear your voice describing to them what it means when a person dies and how those left behind feel about it. There is no one better suited to that task, Isobel. I've heard you explain it to the children of patients who have died. You're so very gentle and eloquent; the way you explain it in terms they can comprehend without talking down to them.

"I'm so very proud of you, my darling. What you did today took immense courage. How do you feel about it now?"

She buried her face in his neck for a moment, feeling his pulse beneath her lips and nipping at him there. When she sat up again she sighed deeply.

"Ultimately I'm very glad I did it. It was as much for myself as for them, I suppose; a sort of test of my resolve. _Do I truly believe the things I'm telling them_ , you know? And I found affirmation that I do. But the fact that I can see Matthew in everything George does now is both a blessing and a curse. I love it that his demeanor and mannerisms and physical appearance are so very much _my son,_ but at the same time I am outraged that I don't get to revel in the joy of it all _with_ Matthew.

"And George is _so_ perceptive that it's eerie. I can't be sure whether he truly understands that his father is dead and that we can't see him but he once was alive and he loved us. But he can read my emotions startlingly well. That's extremely unusual, for a boy certainly, but particularly for his _age_. I would not be at all surprised if he and I come to have the kind of connection I had with my mother. It's wonderful, truly. But it's very intense. The fir cones! He had watched Sybbie lay flowers on Sybil's marker and he clearly understood the gesture well enough that he wanted to give something to his father. He'd been sitting in my lap, and all on his own he got up, opened the hamper, withdrew as many fir cones as he could hold and put them on Matthew's marker. He can't know the significance of what he did, but he laid claim to Matthew as his father. It was simultaneously beautiful, vindicating, _and_ heartbreaking."

Richard understood, and he drew her into his arms. She wept and he made no move to tell her not to. He rocked her and whispered assurances of his love for her, of George and Sybbie's. He told her how perfectly suited she was to the role of grandmother, how grateful he was that she had given him the gift of belonging to a family, the little patchwork version of a family that was theirs and theirs alone.

And his assurances, his embrace, his tender handling of her heart were exactly what was required to mend it; for after a time she simply drew a shuddering breath and her tears ceased. When she looked at him she was beaming.

"Hello, beauty," Richard whispered, the pad of his thumb sweeping over her lips as if to try to capture that smile.

"Thank you, my love," she said gently, but the force with which she then kissed him wasn't gentle at all.

"Isobel," he whispered, drawing out the last syllable, his lips so close she could feel his breath upon her own.

She smiled against his mouth. "I told you yes and I meant it. _Please,_ Richard."

He needed no further permission. He hitched her nightgown up above her knees and brought her to straddle his lap. She felt him straining against her through the satin of her knickers and moaned softly at the contact. He took her lips ravenously and slid his hands under her buttocks to hold her against him. He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and nudged her with his nose until she tipped her head back, and he lavished kisses to her throat and the hollows of her collarbones.

She unbuttoned the top two buttons of his pajama shirt and when she saw her chance she ducked her head to kiss the hollow at the base of his throat, sucking at the warm skin there. His hands roamed over her bare back beneath her nightgown.

She looked up at him, breathless, and brushed her lips against his. "Richard." She made his name a caress, and he twitched against her in response. "Take me …" she kissed him again, "upstairs …" another kiss, _"_ _ **now.**_ _"_

He grinned and caught her about the waist, lifting her to stand. She held out a hand to help him up and he led her up the stairs, where he lifted her into his arms and lay her down. They undressed each other quickly and lay on their sides facing one another. Each played the other's body expertly, knowing just where to touch in order to elicit this gasp or that moan. He rolled her beneath him and she drew him into the cradle of her hips, and as he joined with her they communicated in the language that belonged only to them. _Yes, love. So good. Beautiful. More. Right there. God, sweetheart. So close. Come to me._

She held him within her for a long time afterward. For her these moments were as sensual as the lovemaking itself. She felt sleep closing in and said softly, "As much as I hate to make you move, tonight we'll want to make certain we're decent. We'll have visitors long before morning."

They extricated themselves reluctantly from one another's arms and redressed in their pajamas. Richard lit a small fire in the fireplace and joined Isobel beneath the covers once more. She lay on her side and he wrapped himself around her from behind. She smiled. This was her favorite way to be held after making love. She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"There are no words to express how very much I love you," she said softly.

He smiled and kissed her deeply. "Oh, but Isobel, _I know._ You tell me a hundred times a day in all the little things you do. And I hope it's apparent that I love you. Hopelessly. From time immemorial, to time everlasting. I do, sweet girl."

She kissed him once more. " _I know._ "

In the morning when she woke, Isobel found Sybbie's arms wrapped around her neck. She shifted them around to hold the little girl close, running her fingers through baby-fine hair. She glanced over to Richard's side of the bed and her breath caught at the sight of him fast asleep with George on his chest. The little boy had his thumb in his mouth and his lips made soft sucking movements.

Not for the first time in the company of her little family, and certainly not for the last, she thought she had never seen a sight so beautiful.

 _This is so much more than I ever could have asked for,_ she thought.

Isobel knew she'd been born into a great legacy of love; she'd found her own as well and had given birth to a magnificent son. But to then know such love a SECOND time, not only with Richard but also with this new generation? That, she knew, was a true blessing. And if it meant that moments like this one could exist, then she knew the heartache and loss had been worth it.

* * *

 **Thank you: to my wonderful grandparents, who inspired much of my characterization of Isobel and Richard and many of the anecdotes I used within the story. To Grandma for her love of music; to Grandpa for his laughing eyes, sweet nature and for being the one upon whose feet I once danced. To Nanny for teaching me about flowers and plants _and_ grief and healing; to Papa for being quick-witted and indulgent of all us grandkids.**

 **To my brother, sister and cousins for participating with me in all the mischief that inspired Sybbie and George's antics. To my own children, Little Lady, Little Big Brother, and Baby Boy for your inspiration as well. I could never have written little children if I hadn't had your examples to go by.**

 **Incidentally, there's a song I kept thinking of as I wrote the scene with Sybbie picking flowers. It's "Butterfly" by The Willis Clan. Available on YouTube.**

 **Would you be so kind as to leave me a review? I thrive on your feedback and greatly enjoy interacting with all of you!**


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